Birthday Review: In the Palace of Repose (plus additional stories), by Holly Phillips

Today is Holly Phillips' birthday. Beginning with "No Such Thing as an Ex-Con" in the Summer 2000 On Spec, Phillips published a string of remarkable stories (and two novels), with the last appearing in her collection At the Edge of Walking in 2012. She has been silent in the SF/F field since then -- I recall an interview in which she mentioned that she had returned to school, and was considering different fields of writing. So I'm not sure what her future writing plans are, but I eagerly await new work -- her stories were truly among the very best of the first decade of this millennium.

In honor of her birthday, I'm reprinting a review I did for Locus of her first collection, In the Palace of Repose, followed by a collection of my reviews of her stories in my Locus columns.

Review of In the Palace of Repose from the February 2005 Locus

In the Palace of Repose, by Holly Phillips (Prime Books, 1-894815-58-5, $29.95, 208pp, hb) February 2005.

reviewed by Rich Horton

It is really exciting to see a debut collection of this quality. In the Palace of Repose collects nine stories, seven of them originals. Holly Phillips has not yet published a novel [two appeared since then], and relatively few short stories. She is also an editor at the fine Canadian magazine On Spec.

The title story caught my eye earlier this year in the first issue of H. P. Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror. This beautiful, atmospheric, story is set in a version of England, in which a bureaucrat is charged with maintaining the house (palace? prison?) in which a lives a magical King. In this new non-magical age the bureaucrat seems to be the only one who still believes in the King. His department ready for elimination, he visits the King one more time, only to find that a young woman has made her way into the King's palace. Who can she be? Lovely stuff. The other reprint is "The New Ecology", from the Summer 2002 On Spec – about discarded parts recombining to make living things.

There might be a suspicion among some cynical readers that original stories in a collection are likely trunk stories. More charitably, they might be viewed as more challenging or individual stories that the writer couldn't place with conventional markets. Or often enough a single new story is included just to reward buyers of the collection with a story they couldn't get anywhere else. All this is irrelevant to this book – the seven new stories, all fine to excellent work, suggest a writer who has found her voice and has too much stuff available to wait for magazine schedules. (And indeed in 2004 I saw at least four more stories by Phillips that didn't find their way into this book – in On Spec, Flesh & Blood, Black Gate, and Alchemy.)

I think the best new story here may be "By the Light of Tomorrow's Sun". A young man comes back to his island birthplace, to face his reclusive foreign-born grandfather and resolve a bitter mystery. The climax involves memories of his parents' death, which drove his grandfather mad with grief, the loss of a young neighbor girl at the same time, and the secrets of his grandfather's own people.

But that's just one choice of many. "The Other Grace" is a sensitive and believable story of an amnesiac. After losing her memory, Grace returns home, to a loving and supportive family, particularly her older brother. But she doesn't recognize them, and she doesn't recognize the girl they think they know. She is a new person now -- "the other Grace". Her confusion, her resentment, even, of her previous self, the befuddlement of her friends and family, her coming to terms with her new identity -- all are clearly, honestly, portrayed: not tragic, bittersweet.

Several stories deal with artists of one sort or another. "Variations on a Theme" intertwines the story of two women: Berenice, a music student in 1916, a brilliant pianist but held back by her teachers' attitudes about women; Brona is an older student in 2003, much more successful. What seems a fairly ordinary set of parallels resolves into something unexpected and haunting. "Pen & Ink" is the story of another artistic student, tying together her own abilities, her missing father's genius, and her mother's love and resentment with a series of unique thefts and hints of a magic. "Summer Ice" is about an art teacher, coming to terms with her new life in the city, her own art, her neighbours, perhaps a man.

Adding a fine piece of urban horror ("One of the Hungry Ones"), about a homeless woman lured to a phantasmogorical series of parties by a beautiful trio of "friends"; and an earnest story of a native woman helping with an anthropological dig, against her people's desires ("A Woman's Bones") rounds out a truly impressive first book.

Here are some other brief reviews of Holly Phillips' fiction from my Locus column (and elsewhere).

Locus, September 2004

Holly Phillips's "A Beggar in Shadow" (Alchemy #2) does not seem to be fantasy at all, though in a couple of ways I was reminded of Ellen Kushner's Swordspoint, famously a non-fantastical fantasy. The narrator, Julian, is the companion of an older man, Mr. Desambouche, and is pressured by him to act as go-between in an attempt to seduce a beautiful young Duchess. But Julian too is attracted, unwillingly, to the young woman -- which leads to considerable danger and testing of loyalties when the jealous Duke interrupts an assignation.

Locus, November 2004

Holly Phillips's "The Dead Boy" (On Spec, Summer) concerns a woman who sees ghosts and the troubled policeman she helps. He is in trouble for caring too much about one possibly murdered boy, but the protagonist, to her surprise, finds another way to help him.

Locus, December 2004

The first issue of H. P. Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror is very promising. I really liked a story by Holly Phillips, "In the Palace of Repose". A bureaucrat in what seems to be a version of England visits a mysterious Palace, in which a magical entity he calls the King is imprisoned. On this latest visit he is shocked to find that someone else, a young woman, has found her way to the Palace. He brings her out, sadly expecting her to disappear into a governmental maze. But more to his concern he learns that his department is to be discontinued – it seems in this rational age that no one believes in this magical King any more. So he returns one more time, to find that something new awaits ... The story is quite beautifully written, coming to a satisfyingly expected resolution, effective both logically and emotionally.

Locus, April 2006

Phillips’s “canvas, mirror, glass” (Fantasy Magazine #2) is an intense variation of a fairly familiar setup: a young artist in some sense under the sway of an older artist. But Phillips uses this situation very well. Isobel has become the mistress of a rich older patron, and he wants the alpha artist of their circle, Didier, to paint her, but she is reluctant. And she befriends Michelle, an older, somewhat frustrated, artist, who has been through a similar experience. The resolution is just a shade unexpected, and the story as a whole is emotionally convincing. (Though perhaps not really fantasy.)

Locus, May 2007

One story this issue of Asimov's knocked me flat: Holly Phillips’s “Three Days of Rain”. It’s remarkable how much this story does by doing so little, in a way. The story is set in a drought-ridden future. A Spanish-flavored city is about to vote on whether to abandon their dry location. Santiago is a young man, a glassmaker, who has some friends above his social station. We get a brief look at his life: glassmaking, beginning swordplay, fascination with a pretty girl, fascination with the aristocratic leader of their circle – most of all, his love for his city. I can’t describe why the story works so well, but it does: it is beautiful, true, hopeful and sad.

Blog entry on the anthology Fantasy, edited by Paul Tremblay and Sean Wallace

My favorite story here was certainly Holly Phillips's "Brother of the Moon", from Fantasy. It opens with a "hero" and his sister in bed together in a war-torn quasi-contemporary city (I was reminded - intriguingly but not entirely accurately - of Iain Banks's A Song of Stone). Their war is lost, and one mysterious path forward remains, and eventually the hero chooses to take it, and proceeds to his ancestral home, for an act of sacrifice that entirely redeems the story if only ambiguously redeems his life.

Locus, July 2008

At Fantasy Magazine for May Holly Phillips gives us another remarkable story, “The Small Door”. Sal’s sister Macey is dying of cancer, and she spends her time looking out the window. Their neighbor keeps various small animals in cages, and sometimes the animals disappear. Macey convinces Sal to go snooping, to figure out what evil the neighbor is up to. The answer is, of course, not what we expect – and the climactic line: “you see, it’s such a small door”, is a killer.

Locus, March 2009

Holly Phillips continues to thrill me with her lyrical stories in which small moments loom large, in which small phrases glitter, in which small-seeming emotional elements shatter. “The Long Cold Goodbye” (Asimov's, March) seems almost an inverse mirror to her first Asimov’s story, “Three Days of Rain”, which featured a hot dry city facing potential abandonment. Here Berd, a native of a very cold Northern city, is preparing to leave her home as the ice has finally taken over, and the city becomes uninhabitable. In her dreamlike last walk across her city she searches out one childhood friend, while weirdly accompanied by fantastical ice sculptures of her other childhood friends. The story achieves a naturalistic feel – this seems like it really is happening, is not “story” somehow – and we are given a picture of a lost place – a place some time past colonized by foreigners, still inhabited by natives like Berd, and now to be abandoned by all. The place as portrayed is beautiful (partly due to Phillips’s prose) and the loss aches … and Berd’s prospective new life is also hinted at obliquely. Lovely work.

Locus, September 2009

Holly Phillips goes from strength to strength. “Thieves of Silence”, at Beneath Ceaseless Skies, is a lovely tale of Zel, a thief who as the story opens invades a rich man’s house to steal enough to keep her and her lover from ruin. But the rich man’s daughters are witches, and Zel is captured – in more ways than one. Zel’s lover Gannet, meanwhile, schemes to land a rich husband – and so we have rich net of betrayal and maneuvering, shifting loyalties, unexpected emotional responses.

Ace Double Reviews, 13: The Green Millennium, by Fritz Leiber/Night Monsters, by Fritz Leiber

Ace Double Reviews, 13: The Green Millennium, by Fritz Leiber/Night Monsters, by Fritz Leiber (#30300, 1969, $0.60)

by Rich Horton

Fritz Reuter Leiber, Jr., was born on Christmas Eve, 1910. His father was a noted Shakespearean actor who also had a significant film career, with some major roles in the silents (such as Caesar opposite Theda Bara in Cleopatra), and a long series of character roles in talkies such as The Sea Hawk. Fritz Jr. toured with his father's stage company, and appeared in small roles in a few films with his father in the 1930s, but his true métier was writing science fiction and fantasy. He had a degree in Physiology from the University of Chicago, and studied for the Episcopal ministry. He began publishing fiction in the mid-30s (he was one of H. P. Lovecraft's many correspondents), and began to make a real mark with work for John W. Campbell, Jr.'s Astounding in the early '40s. He worked briefly at Douglas Aircraft during the War (joining the likes of Philip José Farmer and Jack Skillingstead (and probably many others) as SF writers who worked (in a sense) for my company, Boeing), then spent a decade or so as an Associate Editor at Science Digest. He and his first wife Jonquil had one son, Justin, a philosopher and sometime SF writer. Leiber won two Hugos for Best novel: The Big Time (1958) and The Wanderer (1964), though my favorites among his novels are The Sinful Ones (1953/1980) and A Specter is Haunting Texas (1968). He also won four Hugos for short fiction (plus a special Hugo), two Nebulas, several World Fantasy Awards, and was named an SFWA Grand Master in 1980. He died in 1982.

(Covers by Jack Gaugan and John Schoenherr)

The Green Millennium is a novel first published in 1953, and rather long for an Ace Double half at 64,000 words. Night Monsters is a brief collection, four stories totaling about 27.5 Kwords, all the stories basically horror. (Curiously, Leiber had 5 Ace Double halves, in three books, and three of the Ace Double halves were story collections.)

As I recall James Nicoll's description of The Green Millennium in his "Novels of Fritz Leiber" post on rec.arts.sf.written went something like "Man finds green cat, hijinks ensue". I also recall someone mentioning that they had had trouble from their parents for reading an edition of the book, because of a racy cover. In fact, in the book Leiber makes rather a lot of the notion that female fashions at the turn of the millennium emphasize bare breasts. (Leiber often displayed a just vaguely (or sometimes not vaguely at all) kinky view of sex.) Indeed, this edition features a bare torsoed woman painted from 3/4 to the rear. That said, the book is not really very racy in content. (Less so than The Sinful Ones, also from 1953).

It's set in a large US city at the turn of the 21st Century. The US and Russia remain engaged in a warmish conflict -- the Korean War is in its 50th year, and there is a brief reference to a World War III, and the Capitol being in a second Washington. Phil Gish is a young man, shy of women, who has just lost another job to a robot. He wakes up and finds a green cat in his room, and is overcome with feelings of good will and optimism. He goes gadding about town, and the green cat slips away at a male/female wrestling establishment, run by the moblike organization Fun Incorporated.

Depressed again, Phil goes back to his room and spies on the pretty girl across the way, but as she undresses he notices that her legs are furred and hoofed. He decides that between green cats and satyrs he really is nuts, and visits a psychiatrist. But the psychiatrist seems unduly interested in the green cat, and locks Phil in. Luckily, his wild (and bare-breasted) daughter takes pity on Phil and lets him out, and we are off on a pretty much non-stop chase/romp featuring wrestlers, mobsters, a benevolent scientist apparently modelled on Robert Oppenheimer, Russian spies, a witch, a weirdo who is into all sorts of New Ageish religions including, inevitably, worship of Bast in the form of the green cat, the Federal Bureau of Loyalty, aliens with names based on Aphrodite and Dionysus, and so on.

It's not one of my favorite Leiber novels. It seems more frenetic than logical, and one way or another I couldn't quite believe in most of the characters -- they seem generally types, not real. The resolution is a bit trite. Leiber is never quite bad, but this is pretty minor stuff for him.

The flip side is a collection of four stories. Perhaps conveniently, they are pretty much ordered both by decreasing order of length, and decreasing order of quality. Here they are:

"The Black Gondolier" (12,000 words, from the 1964 August Derleth Arkham House anthology Over the Edge) -- set in Venice, CA, with much made of parallels with the real Venice. A man becomes convinced that the oil under the earth is an intelligence, and that it is after him.

"Midnight in the Mirror World" (6200 words, from Fantastic, October 1964) -- a 50-ish divorced recluse who notices a scary woman in one (but only one) of the multiple reflections of himself in two mirrors across from each other -- and each night the woman is in a nearer reflection.

"I'm Looking for 'Jeff'" (5100 words, from Fantastic, Fall 1952) -- a strange woman who only certain people can see shows up every night in a bar, looking for someone named Jeff.

"The Casket Demon" (4300 words, from Fantastic, April 1963) -- a rather silly story about a German-American actress, the last of the Von Sheers, who needs publicity to keep her safe from an ancient curse.

There was a British version of Night Monsters, a full length collection which sensibly deleted "The Casket Demon", and added "The Creature from Cleveland Depths", "The Oldest Soldier", "The Girl with the Hungry Eyes", and "A Bit of the Dark World" (this last a relatively little-known story that I think is worth more attention than it has gotten.)

Birthday Review: A Buyer's Market and At Lady Molly's, by Anthony Powell

Birthday Review: A Buyer's Market and At Lady Molly's, by Anthony Powell

a review by Rich Horton

Anthony Powell was born 21 December 1905, and he died in March of 2000. He was of the lower reaches of the English upper class, though he eventually married the daughter of an Earl (Violet Powell, sister of the notorious Lord Longford, and niece of the great Fantasy writer Lord Dunsany.) He attended Eton (one close friend was Henry Yorke, who wrote his novels as "Henry Green", one of the most interesting and original writers of the 20th Century), then Oxford. After graduation, he worked for the publisher Duckworth, briefly worked in movies, and wrote five rather interesting novels. He did not write during the War, instead serving in the Intelligence branch (though not as any sort of spy). He began publishing the work for which he is famous, a 12-volume novel collectively called A Dance to the Music of Time, in 1951, and put out a volume every 2 years or so until 1975. During this period he also wrote reviews for Punch, and later for the Daily Telegraph. A couple of later novels followed Dance, and in addition he wrote a couple of minor (but interesting) plays, and all of one (1) short story. Late in his life he published his memoirs in four volumes, and three volumes of journals.

This is what I wrote about A Dance to the Music of Time as a series, some while back:

A Dance to the Music of Time is an extremely absorbing and well-crafted novel (composed of 12 smaller novels). Its subject is the decline of the English upper classes from the First World War to about 1970, a decline seen is inevitable and probably necessary, but somehow also regrettable.
Such a description might make the novel seem stuffy, but it is not. A Dance to the Music of Time is at times very funny indeed, and always interesting. always involving. It features an enormous cast of characters, and Powell has the remarkable ability to make his characters memorable with the briefest of descriptions. In addition, Powell's prose is addictive: very characteristic, idiosyncratic, and elegant.

The long novel follows the life of the narrator, Nicholas Jenkins, from his time at Eton just after World War I to retirement in the English countryside in the late '60s. But Jenkins, though the narrator, is in many ways not the most important character. The comic villain Widmerpool, a creature of pure will, and awkward malevolence, is the other fulcrum around which the novel pivots.

Here are two blog posts I wrote, upon rereading the second and fourth volumes:

A Buyer's Market, by Anthony Powell

The first volume of A Dance to the Music of Time, A Question of Upbringing, was basically about "school", with a couple of chapters set at Eton, a chapter set in France the summer between finishing at Eton and going up to Oxford, and a chapter covering Oxford.  This second volume, then, covers the first few years following graduation from Oxford.  The basic subject is young love, I suppose, looked at, as ever with Powell, from a wide variety of viewpoints, different characters and different situations.  The narrator of the series, Nick Jenkins, is famous for telling little about himself, in general, over the scope of the 12 books.  But in this volume, perhaps more than most, he is a major character, and his first essays at relationships with women are pretty  central to this book.  But of course many other characters are described as well.

This book is unified by the character of Edgar Deacon, an aging painter of noted incompetence, and an acquaintance of Nick's parents, and thus of Nick himself.  Mr. Deacon, as Nick calls him, is by the time of the book's action no longer painting: he is running an antique shop.  The book opens with one of Powell's gorgeous set-pieces, wherein we see first Jenkins at some future date at a gallery auction, as some of Mr. Deacon's paintings are sold "the whole set knocked down for a pound".  (Obviously, Deacon's paintings are subject to a "buyer's market".)  This is possibly the same time as the opening of the entire sequence, which I would put in 1949 or so, but others might place in 1970, right at the end of the series.  Anyway Nick is prompted to remember his encounters with Mr. Deacon when a child, then a certain painting of Mr. Deacon's that hung obscurely in the stairwell of the Walpole-Wilsons' house.  The Walpole-Wilsons, we soon gather, are where Nick's first adult "love" lives: she is their niece, Barbara Goring.  Nick's reminiscing seems to spiral in, covering nicely his whole period of "dating" Barbara, then zooming in on a critical dinner party, prior to a dance at the Huntercombes.  This dinner and dance, at which time Nick realizes he know longer cares about Barbara, are the centerpiece of the first very long chapter.  The second chapter then covers a late-night party attended by Nick after the dance.  Nick is surprised to find Kenneth Widmerpool at the Walpole-Wilson's dinner, and later surprised even more to realize that Widmerpool also had designs on Barbara Goring.  All this ends, though, with one of the most famous scenes in the whole sequence, in which Widmerpool so annoys Barbara that she is provoked into trying to "sweeten him up" with some sugar, in the process accidentally dumping an entire sugar caster over his head.

The later party, at Mrs. Milly Andriadis' house, leads to re-encounters with such critical characters as Stringham (Nick's Eton friend), Mr. Deacon, and the Oxford dean and influence-peddler Sillery.  Perhaps more critically, we are introduced to the powerful industrialist Magnus Donners, employer of Stringham and soon also of Widmerpool.  Here many more permutations of love affairs are covered: Baby Wentworth, who was "involved" in the divorce of Stringham's older sister, is pursued by Donners, by the Balkan Prince Theodoric, and (it turns out) also by Mr. Deacon's tenant, the painter and womanizer Ralph Barnby, who becomes one of Nick's best friends.  Bijou Ardglass is also pursued by Theodoric.  Mr. Deacon brings his radical associate Gypsy Jones, who soon ensnares Widmerpool (and later is Nick's own first sexual "conquest").  Mr. Deacon himself, I believe (it's not perhaps clear), is shown in what I interpret as the aftermath of a lover's quarrel with a male singer, Max Pilgrim.  Stringham is currently Mrs. Andriadis' lover, though Nick had thought him engaged to Lady Peggy Stepney, one of the "beauties" of Nick's dinner party set. In a key line, Mr. Deacon reveals to Nick that Gypsy Jones is "in trouble".  Later in the book we learn that Widmerpool was tricked into solving her trouble (procuring an abortion for her, apparently in the mistaken belief that he was responsible). 

At Lady Molly's, by Anthony Powell

Book 4 is At Lady Molly's.  This is set around 1934.  The title character is an eccentric woman, perhaps 10 years or more older than Nicholas Jenkins, formerly married to the Earl of Sleaford, now married to a curious WWI veteran, obscurely injured, named Ted Jeavons.  "Lady" Molly Jeavons and her husband host parties with a rather wide-ranging guest list.  Nick finds himself at one in the company of one of his fellow screenwriters, Chips Lovell.  Nick and Chips are writers for the "quota quickies" -- at this time British film companies were required to release one British film for every Hollywood film they imported.  (As with much of Jenkins' life and career, this is autobiographical for Powell.)  The book continues, very loosely organized around a series of parties at Lady Molly's, along with other encounters, such as Nick running into Ted Jeavons in a bar.  It was only apparent to me on second reading, but to a large, though somewhat subtle, extent this book is about Nick's courtship of Isobel Tolland.  The book opens with Nick hinting that he is just about over Jean Templer Duport, who was his love interest in the previous book, and there is a mention (rather a famous line among Powellites, actually) of much of Nick's time being spent on line at cinemas with different girls.  But right from the first party at Lady Molly's Isobel's presence begins to be felt, even when she is not there.  The Tolland family are vaguely connected to Lady Molly (and indeed the Jeavonses are borrowing the Earl of Warminster's butler, Smith, as the story begins -- Warminster, who I believe to have been partly based on Lady Violet Powell's brother Lord Longford, a notorious Leftist peer, is the eldest Tolland brother, and officially head of the family after their father's death, though they still call him Erridge, after his cadet title (Viscount Erridge).)  A couple of Tolland sisters show up at this party, but Isobel is not one of them -- nonetheless, at the mention of her name, Nick feels a frisson of sorts (though he has not met her).

Anyway, the main action of the book follows a couple of strands.  One is Widmerpool's engagement to Mrs. Mildred Haycock, a rackety widow is also somehow connected with Lady Molly.  Mrs. Haycock is also the much younger sister of Mrs. Conyers, the wife of General Conyers, one of the most generally admirable men portrayed by Powell -- a hero of the Boer War, a very competent and interesting man.  (Indeed, this book introduces two of my favorite minor characters in the series: Conyers and Ted Jeavons.)  The other is the relationship of Erridge and Nick's old friend J. V. Quiggin, now married to Mona (who was formerly married to Nick's longtime friend, and Jean Templer's brother, Peter Templer.)  Nick spends a weekend with J. V. and Mona at a cottage owned by Erridge.  Erridge shows up, and at first Quiggin wishes to discuss the political magazine he wants him to fund, but before long it's clear that something is about to happen between Erridge and Mona.  And at a visit to the Warminster estate, Thrubworth, Isobel Tolland and another sister show up, and Nick decides on sight that he will marry Isobel.  Elsewhere Widmerpool is agonizing over the prospect of a weekend with Mrs. Haycock, at which he fears he will have to prove his sexual mettle.

And so on.  It's wonderful stuff.  Not much more I can say.

Birthday Review: Short Fiction of Sean McMullen

Today is Australian writer Sean McMullen's 70th birthday. In honor of this, I'm posting a compilation of my reviews of his short fiction in Locus. (My review of his story "Electrica", from the March-April 2012 F&SF, somehow has disappeared from my hard drive, but fortunately Steven Silver reviews it in Black Gate here.)

Locus, September 2002

From Sci Fiction,  "Voice of Steel" by Sean McMullen is a delightfully loopy (no pun intended) story in which a contemporary woman stumbles on a way to communicate through time with the early 15th Century English scientist William Tynedale. The working out is goofy in almost a pulpish fashion, but the consequences of the plot machinations are thought-provoking.

Locus, December 2002

Sean McMullen's "Walk to the Full Moon" (F&SF, December) is nice, mainly for its quite original explanation for the appearance of a pre-Neanderthal woman in modern day Spain.

Locus, October 2006

Interzone for August has a fine mathematical fantasia from Rudy Rucker and Terry Bisson, “2 + 2 = 5”, in which a mathematician proves that there are holes in the number system; and another story about numbers, “The Measure of Eternity” by Sean McMullen, a lush piece set in the legendary Arabian city Ubar, in which a cruel king, a beautiful courtesan, her servant, and a beggar who has, quite literally, nothing, learn how important nothing can be.

Locus, September 2009

As for the new stories in the August-September F&SF: the cover piece is something of a departure for Sean McMullen. “The Art of the Dragon” is told by an art historian who happens to be one of the first witnesses to a dragon who eats human works of art, beginning with the Eiffel Tower. He is anointed an “expert”, and as such gets a front row seat for the dragon’s continuing career, which basically involves a lot more destruction, and he also witnesses the sometimes daffy human reaction, such as the Dragonist cult which ends up trying to appease the dragon with a virgin sacrifice. McMullen’s point is interesting, though I think he took too long getting to it – still, a thought-provoking piece.

Locus, August 2010

Sean McMullen has the best story at Analog for September. “Eight Miles” tells of an expert balloonist in 1840 London hired by a rich man to take him and a passenger to unusually high altitudes. The passenger is a strange foxlike woman, apparently only barely intelligent, but she gains mental acuity as altitude increases. The rich man thinks she is of a race inhabiting the Himalayas, hence her preference for altitude. The reader will quickly know where she really hales from, and the story doesn’t surprise in getting to that reveal, but the ending slingshots nicely from there.

Locus, January 2011

Sean McMullen’s “Enigma” (Analog, January-February) is a classical SF puzzle planet story, and also something of a Fermi Paradox story. A group of explorers, each a mix of human/animal traits, tries to figure out the meaning and history of a strange, nearly indestructible, and quite abandoned, alien city. The answer is perhaps a bit of a stretch to believe, but it’s wrapped around a decent theme, and the result of the team’s discovery is interesting and bittersweet.

Locus, June 2017

The March-April Interzone includes a new Sean McMullen story, “The Influence Machine”. This has a bit of a steampunk flavor. It’s set at the turn of the 20th Century, told by an Inspector for the Metropolitan Police in London, a man with a scientific education. He investigates a disturbance caused by a young woman with an intimidating looking machine, and decides she is harmless, but not before seeing what her machine can do: it takes pictures of what seems to be an alternate London. In somewhat reluctant sympathy with her position as a woman with scientific ability who is not respected, he continues his association with her, as she is able to use her machine to learn scientific secrets from that alternate (and more advanced) world, until her discoveries attract the attention of the authorities, who become very interested. This puts the narrator in a tricky moral situation. All is resolved in a satisfactory fashion.

Old Bestseller (Not!): The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade, by Herman Melville

Old Bestseller (Not!): The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade, by Herman Melville

a review by Rich Horton

Herman Melville (1819-1891) is now one of the canonical Great American Writers, known mostly for his novel Moby-Dick (1851), and a bit less for his first novel Typee (1846), and for his last short novel, Billy Budd, which was left unfinished at his death and was not published until 1924. In fact, Melville's career as a prose writer lasted essentially 11 years, from 1846 until 1857. Except for Billy Budd, his literary work the rest of his life was poetry, and while his books of poetry sold risibly in his lifetime, his reputation in that field has waxed enormously, and he ranks now, in critical estimation, perhaps third among American poets of his time, behind only Whitman and Dickinson.

While I have often heard it said that the failure of Moby-Dick ruined Melville's career, I don't think that's quite correct. No doubt the sales for that novel were disappointing compared to his very popular earlier books, but it still seems to have sold moderately well. The following three novels, however: Pierre; or, The Ambiguities; Israel Potter: His Fifty Years of Exile;  and The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade; were far less successful, both financially and critically. In particular, the publisher of The Confidence-Man went bankrupt, and it is doubtful that Melville was paid at all for the book. All those books were largely panned by contemporary critics. By the end of his life, Melville was regarded as a minor writer of sea stories. It was only beginning in the 1910s, and accelerating in the 1920s after the publication (and success) of Billy Budd, that his reptutation burgeoned. And while Moby-Dick is still regarded as his masterpiece, and a truly towering work of American literature, many of the other novels, The Confidence-Man perhaps most of all, have gained a significant place in the canon.

I have a copy of Moby-Dick, but while I will read it eventually, I just wasn't in the mood. And The Confidence-Man, a novel I had only barely heard of until recently, seemed fascinating. So I decided to make it the second piece by Herman Melville I ever read. (I read "Bartleby the Scrivener" as an assigned work in High School.) I read The Confidence-Man in the Library of America collection of his later prose work.

The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade was published on April 1, 1857; and the action of the novel is set on that same date. There is no question that the date was chosen with malice aforethought.
It opens as a man boards the steamer Fidèle in St. Louis. He seems mute, and displays a slate, rewriting quotations from 1 Corinthians 13: "Charity thinketh no evil", "Charity never faileth", etc. In contrast, a barber, who plies his trade on the boat, sets up his shop with the sign "NO TRUST". And we see that a reward is offered for a mysterious impostor.

All this actually sets up expectations, potentially, for a bit of plottiness. But the novel does not proceed this may. As the journey downriver continues, we are introduced to a variety of men, beginning with a severely crippled black man, begging for alms. He meets with resistance -- distrust -- and is defended by a man in mourning, with a weed in his hat. This man strikes up a conversation with a businessman, promoting the idea of confidence and trust in other people. And by the by he mentions an opportunity to buy shares in a certain company, rumored to be in distress.

And so the book continues, with a variety of individuals appearing and disappearing, with one person usually speaking -- at length -- with another, urging confidence in and charity towards one's fellow man. And often somewhat obliquely suggesting an investment, or a loan, or the purchase of an improving medicine, or some other scheme. Both sides of the conversations are presented with force -- the men (or is it one man?) urging confidence, and various people professing skepticism. Certain longer stories are offered, one about Colonel John Moredock, the Indian hater; another about the ill effects of accepting a loan, etc. The barber professing "No Trust" is debated.

This continues through the course of the day, as the boat passes Cairo and heads further down the river. We soon realize that the conversations are the point of the book -- the constant debate between seemingly virtuous "confidence" in others -- clearly, however, from the mouth of a "confidence man", who appears to (with indifferent success) be attempting to swindle the passengers -- and a more skeptical attitude, a more individualistic approach to life.

If nothing happens, if no plot emerges, it doesn't matter. The book is almost mesmerising at times. It's a remarkably modern-seeming novel in design, and in aim. Melville's prose is not, I suppose, modern -- it's of the 19th century, but vigorously his, not like any other writer. The sentence are very long (often occupying whole paragraphs), and they demand careful reading, but also reward it. The book seems engaged in portraying the American character, as Melville saw it, and from none too happy a vantage point. It is quite a remarkable performance, a striking and completely original novel. And often quite a funny one.

Birthday Review: Midnight Robber, by Nalo Hopkinson

Midnight Robber, by Nalo Hopkinson

a review by Rich Horton

Today is Nalo Hopkinson's birthday. In honor of that, I've resurrected a review I did on my SFF.net newsgroup back when it came out. (I've buffed it slightly.)

Midnight Robber appeared in 2000, and was a Hugo and Nebula nominee for Best Novel in 2001. is a pretty darn good book, with a couple of weaknesses.  The novel is excellent, with a convincing and involving main character, and a neat setting on an alien planet with cool aliens, and a solid plot involving the main character dealing with severe family issues and coming of age.

The story is about a girl from the planet Toussaint, called Tan-Tan. Toussaint is a highly technological planet: most of the work is done by machines, and everybody (except a few resisters) has an implant which connects them to a planet-wide AI. The AI monitors everybody as well as linking them to news and such -- thus crime would seem to be difficult, and when crime does happen, the criminals are treated harshly, exiled to a primitive planet called New Half Way Tree. Tan-Tan is the daughter of the Mayor of her town, Antonio. Antonio is a serial adulterer himself, but when he catches his wife in flagrante, he flies into a rage, and abandons she and Tan-Tan for several months, and eventually plots revenge against his wife's lover.  This crime leads to his exile to New Half Way Tree -- and more or less by accident, he takes Tan-Tan with him.  This whole first section is a bit slow, and to my mind not well enough integrated with the rest of the novel. Antonio doesn't seem well-portrayed -- and Tan-Tan's mother Ione is both an unpleasant and unnecessary character. Moreover it introduces a subthread about the anti-tech people on Toussaint (those who choose not to be linked to the AI, and who do their own hand work) which doesn't really go anywhere. Also, there is some mumbo-jumbo about the connection and means of transport between Toussaint and New Half Way Tree that was superfluous.  (There are bits about Tan-Tan's childhood and about the tech background to Toussaint that are important -- those could have been introduced in flashbacks, I thought.) But I am making a mountain out of a molehill.

Once Tan-Tan and Antonio get to New Half Way Tree, the book comes alive. They are met by an intriguing ostrich- or lizard-like alien called Chichibud, who guides them through some peril to a human village. The village is ruled harshly but apparently fairly by a couple of hard men. It seems that the aliens are regarded as rather simple by the humans, but they engage in mutually beneficial trade, and though there are mysteries, no human has time to investigate on this harsh planet. Tan-Tan grows up, making friends with the simple-minded daughter of another exile, and with a local boy. But her relationship with her father grows horrible, and she is driven to a terrible act as she turns 16. The rest of the book follows her into the wilderness, where she is saved by Chichibud and brought to his home, where she learns something of the secrets of the aliens (called douens) way of life. When her past comes to threaten the aliens as well, she leaves and wanders the bush with an alien friend. Soon she is the "Midnight Robber", trying to atone for her crimes and her guilt, some of which is misplaced, by acting as a sort of Robin Hood character in the various human villages.

Eventually Tan-Tan must find a way back into human society. I thought possibly some of the resolution was just a bit convenient -- also I thought the time scale to the book a bit compressed towards the end. But it remains exciting and interesting, and the resolution if convenient is still satisfying. There are some open questions about the human/douen relationship, but though a sequel is possible, it's not necessary.

Birthday Review: The Blue Flower, by Penelope Fitzgerald

Penelope Fitzgerald, one of my favorite writers, was born 102 years ago today. I discovered her in the early '90s, I think, as a result of a mention in connection with Kingsley Amis or Anthony Powell or someone similar. I immediately sought out everything I could find -- a bit of a trick back then -- and then in 1996 she published The Blue Flower, which made her a worldwide figure, 4 years before her death. But as you can see below, I bought my copy from the UK, in the early days of online bookstores. (I'm sure I paid a premium!)

I'm reposting this review, from way back in 1996, on the occasion of her birthday. And I should note that it's the second book called The Blue Flower I have reviewed on this blog -- a while back I covered Henry van Dyke's story collection with the same title.

Date: Sun, 08 Dec 1996

The Blue Flower, by Penelope Fitzgerald

Flamingo (UK), 1995

Trade paperback edition 1996, 5.99 pounds, $11.95 in Canada

ISBN 0-00-655019-3

Penelope Fitzgerald is a rather well-known author in the U.K., having been short-listed for the Booker Prize four times and winning once (for Offshore (1979)). However, her books are harder to find in the States, and this one, her latest, has yet to be published here. (So thank God for online bookstores, Bookpages in this case!)

[The Blue Flower was of course soon published in the US, and attracted considerable approving notice.]

The Blue Flower is the story of the romance of Friedrich von Hardenberg, later famous as the German Romantic poet-novelist-philosopher Novalis, with a 12-year old girl, Sophie Von Kuhn. The story is told in brief chapters, from the points of view of several characters: Hardenberg himself, a female friend who may fancy herself a rival of Sophie's, Hardenburg's sister, Sophie's sister, and so on. The large cast of characters is wonderfully described, each character briefly and accurately limned, and all treated with humor and affection. In addition, details of how life was lived in 18th century Saxony are casually strewn throughout the book, and a very accurate-feeling picture of everyday life, and more importantly, how everyday people thought, is the result.

The main characters are odd but interesting: Fritz von Hardenberg is a young artist with Romantic attitudes: and at the same time realistically a brother and a son, and also a fairly conscientious apprentice salt-mine inspector. Sophie is a 12-year old girl of very little intelligence, and is unsparingly presented as such (indeed, her character is probably treated with less sympathy than any other in the book.)

As far as I can tell, every character in the book (at least every even moderately prominent character) is historical, though it is hard for me to be sure how closely Fitzgerald's characterizations resemble the historical record. Knowledge of the historical events depicted here casts a sort of pall over the events of the novel: we know that Sophie will die very young, and von Hardenberg not much later. (Novalis first became famous for a series of prose poems written in Sophie's memory ("Hymns to the Night"), and his major work, the novel Heinrich von Ofterdingen, was left uncompleted at his death.) Despite this pall, the book is funny, engaging, and beautiful in a delicate-seeming fashion.

Fitzgerald is one of my favorite authors. As I said, she seems to be less well-known in the US than elsewhere: and I'm not quite sure why. She does not seem overtly "English", for instance. The fine novels Innocence, The Gate of Angels and The Beginning of Spring do seem to be available here. [More recently, all of her novels have been reprinted in the U.S.] I recommend all her work highly. If I had to mention an author she resembles, it might be Anita Brookner, but Fitzgerald seems warmer than Brookner. Others have suggested Barbara Comyns, Barbara Pym, Elizabeth Taylor, and Muriel Spark (all, to be sure, British women authors of roughly her generation.)